


Cuts Like A Knife

by ThayerKerbasy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Crowley and Feelings, Destiel if you squint - Freeform, Episode: s12e23 All Along the Watchtower, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, POV Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-11 07:36:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11143836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThayerKerbasy/pseuds/ThayerKerbasy
Summary: All Along the Watchtower from Crowley's view.





	Cuts Like A Knife

**Author's Note:**

> To be clear, I am fixing _one_ death. I wrote this in an attempt to fit it within the structure of the season 12 finale and still have it make sense when the new season airs. And thank you to my beta, [ grey2510 ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510) for always reining in my rogue punctuation.

His time spent as a rat had indeed given Crowley time to think. He came to a few undeniable conclusions: Hell and everyone in it could rot as far as he was concerned, power came with far too many strings attached, and he’d be content playing sidekick to the Winchesters for the rest of his days. Something had to change, and so he came up with a plan. It was a good plan and it would have worked, but everything fell apart when he reached the Winchesters in their bunker.

He was greeted by Dean’s fist, which on some level he probably deserved, but still, had not expected. The demon-killing knife to the throat was a bit much, though, and entirely unnecessary. Somehow, Moose was the only one who didn’t want him dead immediately, and wasn’t that a blow to the jibblies.

But the hits kept coming. While he had been indisposed, Lucifer had gone and done the impossible. Crowley had honestly never expected his mother to die. His feelings for her were...complicated, to say the least, but he had never truly been able to harm her. Careful to maintain his blasé façade, he buried his emotions deep down, to be dealt with at a later date.

Explaining his motives earned him little in the way of sympathy, but at least they listened. They would forgive his mistakes and help put Lucifer back in the Cage, and he would, in turn, close the gates of Hell. They heard his plan and reacted with suspicion, agreeing begrudgingly, as if his offer were too good to be true and they were waiting for his betrayal. As always, their mistrust cut him to the quick, but as always, his feelings didn’t matter. He would never be more than a demon to them.

The search for Castiel and Kelly Kline began, though it was truly a hunt for Lucifer’s spawn, but still, Crowley had mixed feelings about it all. The Castiel he knew was undoubtedly trying to keep Sam and Dean out of harm’s way, which Crowley could somewhat understand, but at a certain point one had to put aside personal desires and focus on the things that mattered more. The truth was, the whole lot of them could do a better job of staying ahead of Lucifer than Cas and Kelly could alone, even discounting the need to find a permanent solution to their archangel problem. All the same, if Castiel didn’t want to be found, Crowley was somewhat tempted to respect that.

It was almost a relief when there were not enough electronic devices to allow Crowley to assist in the search. It wasn’t as if Crowley hadn’t spent months trying to track down Lucifer with Castiel’s help, so he could have easily pulled his own weight, but if the Winchesters didn’t feel like taking his help, he certainly wasn’t going to force the issue by searching the internet on his phone. He wasn’t being treated like an ally by the people he wanted to help, but he wasn’t a prisoner either. Par for the course, really.

Seated at the library table with a glass of Scotch in his hand, Crowley watched the three Winchesters. The empty space beside Dean begged to be filled, but Crowley swore he wouldn’t be burned again. That space wasn’t meant for him, that much was clear. A small part of him wondered if things could ever go back to the way they were before, or if his betrayal had been too great to forgive. As good as the Scotch was, Crowley would have traded it in a heartbeat for one of those extravagant cocktails that Dean so enjoyed ordering for him.

Of course it was Moose who managed to find the massive power outage that heralded the imminent birth of a nephilim. Traced back to North Cove, Washington, to a cabin rented under the name James Novak, it was like the bastard wanted to be found. Granted, Lucifer would never manage to put two and two together, but then Lucifer only had to follow his own personal connection to his spawn. No, that name was meant to be found by the few who knew it was linked to Castiel.

Eager to be the white knight riding to the rescue for a change, Crowley stood and said, “It’s about time.”

And because the universe hated Crowley, Dean pinned his hand to the table with that infernal knife. Alright, he could somewhat understand the lack of trust, given his transgressions, but he was ready to help. He _wanted_ to help, had promised it, in fact.

There was no way Dean Winchester intended to go drinking with him ever again. Searching his heart — or what passed for one these days — Crowley couldn’t find it in himself to be angry, but he knew something had to give. With a sigh, Crowley inspected his hand and began to work out the best path through which to cut his way free.

* * *

Crowley had a plan. Well, that was nothing new — Crowley always had a plan — but this one would change everything. He lurked invisible at the edges of conversation and learned everything he needed to know about the Winchesters’ latest pickle. Then, he devised a solution.

The spell components were gathered from the Men of Letters’ storeroom, everything he needed at his fingertips with no need to hunt down anything. For a moment, he indulged in the daydream of staying to be a part of that. He would have made one hell of a Man of Letters. It was only wishful thinking, though. Dean had made that quite clear. He prepared everything he could, then returned to make his pitch.

* * *

In the end, it went exactly as intended. Mostly.

Crowley entered the rift first to hide himself away and prepare his spell. The boys gave him ample time to get set up before luring Lucifer in behind them. There was little that needed setting up, but it gave him time to think.

All he had ever wanted was for someone to give a damn about him. Over the course of three and a half centuries, he’d had business partners, underlings, lovers, even a wife and child, but when push came to shove, none of them truly cared. Of course, given the choice between demons and the Winchesters, it was no contest — at least the Winchesters occasionally sought out his company — but still, he would never be anyone’s first choice of companion.

Back when Dean had been a demon, Crowley had dared to hope. Surely, with both of them sporting a demonized soul, it should have been possible. The two of them together could have made the world theirs, but Dean under the influence of the Mark of Cain ran roughshod over everything and everyone. Even keeping the Mark sated didn’t solve anything because the truth was, Dean as a demon was incapable of caring about anyone.

It had been an entertaining summer until Crowley realized the truth. Once he understood, he tried everything he could think of in the hopes of proving himself wrong. He had never been less glad to be right. Then and there had begun the plan to return Dean to his brother to be cured, because if that summer had meant no more to Dean than a night with the town trollop, then what was the point.

Drawing a pentacle in the sand took very little time, and the sigils inside it didn’t take much longer. Jars and bottles just to one side, Crowley set a small bronze bowl in the middle of the pentacle. He then added the ingredients that could be mixed before the beginning of the spell. With that done, there was nothing left but to wait. Wait and think.

After Dean was human again, Crowley tried to stay away, but fate and the Winchesters kept pulling him back in. If he was honest with himself, there wasn’t likely anything that could have kept him away. Not even the return of his long-lost and unlamented mother. Crowley had experienced a small taste of what it might have been like to enjoy an actual relationship with Dean, and the possibility of the real thing was enticing.

Despite the cost to himself and the risk to the world, Crowley helped Sam to get the Mark off of Dean’s arm. It had taken the better part of the following year before Dean could stand to be in the same room as Crowley again. Their summer had gone further than Dean had been willing to go, and regret would prevent it from ever going there again.

What eventually followed was an uneasy truce with cautious overtures on both sides. Funny what could happen when the world needed saving. Then Dean had volunteered to save the world at the cost of his own life. Turned out, dying hadn’t been necessary, but nobody had bothered to tell Crowley that. It was an omission that led to Crowley partnering up with Castiel to hunt Lucifer, which had possibly been the most futile attempt at a friendship ever.

Crowley began to notice the little things, though. Dean started to keep decent Scotch around the bunker, invited him to help on the occasional case, and even unnecessarily defended his presence to Sam. Still, as tempting as it was to hope again, Crowley never forgot that they had all been willing to let him think that Dean was dead. He threw himself into his work, keeping Lucifer on a short leash to keep his subjects in line, but nothing he did brought him the fulfillment he sought.

A short distance away, the portal to their proper universe flared orange, admitting first the Winchesters, then Lucifer. The boys followed their part of the plan beautifully, Dean distracting Lucifer with that angel-killing gun and Sam sprinting over to join Crowley and keep watch. Of course it was then, at the end of things, that Sam would willingly work with Crowley. Quashing his bitterness over what could have been, Crowley tossed the next ingredient into the bowl. “Took you long enough.”

The sounds of gunfire filled that empty place, the urgency echoing in Sam’s words. “Not now, Crowley, come on.”

The gun clicked, empty, far too soon. Somewhere, on the other side of Crowley’s hiding spot, Dean was facing the Morningstar unarmed. “We do this ritual, we seal that rift, and we lock the devil in this godforsaken place. That’s the plan, remember. Two birds, one spell.”

“Right, just hurry.”

Sam turned, peeking out of their hiding place so he could see the action, but Crowley could hear just fine. Lucifer liked to toy with his prey, and if using Dean as a punching bag kept him distracted, it was a necessary sacrifice. At least the pain was only temporary, what with Castiel waiting on the other side of the rift to heal whoever came back out. Forcing himself to ignore Dean’s pained grunts, Crowley spoke the words of incantation over the bowl, softer than a whisper so Lucifer wouldn’t hear.

There came another grunt and the sound of a body hitting the ground. Obviously concerned, Sam hurried back to see the spell’s progress. With the incantation done, Crowley began to add the final ingredients, which Sam named off. “Uh, Dead Sea brine, mercury, lamb’s blood, holy oil. Here we go.”

Sam added the holy oil and the pummelling resumed once more. Clearly in a rush to be done, he said, “That’s the last of it. That’s everything.”

It was time. The plan he had shared had been mostly complete, but some things only worked if they were kept secret. “No, it’s not.”

“What?”

The punches became kicks. Lucifer, impatient as always, would tire of his toy soon. “You wanna heal that rip, we’re gonna need one more minor ingredient.”

“What?” Sam demanded again, ready to provide whatever would stop the devil from further hurting Dean.

“A life.”

Crowley stood and walked out, his thoughts firmly focused on the spell. He had control, carefully measured and calculated, over a spell that didn’t do what he had promised it would. Yes, the plan was to seal the devil in the horrid post-apocalyptic wasteland, but that rift was on a timer that was almost done counting down.

Lucifer laid into Dean, enjoyment writ large across his borrowed face. “I could do this all day. You make such funny noises.”

It was clear that Dean wouldn’t be fighting back. He had done his job admirably, keeping the devil occupied while that timer ticked. It was time to let him rest. Making absolutely certain to avoid being spotted too soon, Crowley gathered his power and flung Lucifer away from Dean.

With one last check to be certain everything was as it needed to be, Crowley cleared his throat to get Lucifer’s attention. “Surprise.”

Lucifer, the utter arse, flailed on the ground like a delighted child. “Ahahahaha! Crowley!” He then got to his feet while Sam dashed over to help Dean get out of harm’s way. Pointing at Crowley, Lucifer’s glee was evident. “You sneaky little— So I guess I get to kill you twice, huh, Crowley?”

The image Crowley projected was one of smug confidence, holding the bastard’s attention while Sam and Dean ran towards the portal. “I doubt it.”

So sure of himself, Lucifer said, “Oh no no, you had your chance. You could’ve put me back in the Cage, but you had to make it personal, didn’t you?”

With the majority of his attention focused on the spell, keeping everything aligned just right, Crowley didn’t bother to make up anything new to distract. Not when the truth would do just fine. “You’re right. It is personal. You humiliated me. I...I hate you. Deeply. Truly. And I’m gonna enjoy wiping that smug, self-satisfied look off your face. Personally.”

Never one to take anything seriously, Lucifer pointed to his own smug smile. “You mean, this one?”

The moment had come. The blade slid out of Crowley’s sleeve and into his hand with that satisfying little schick sound it always made. Every detail was perfect. Blessedly, it wiped the smile from Lucifer’s face, and he went from amusement to bluster. “Come on, Crowley. You know whatever you try, you’re gonna lose.”

Just because he could, Crowley spun the blade in his hand. “You’re right.” A glance at the rift revealed Sam and Dean still there, still waiting. He flashed them a smile. “Bye, boys.”

The illusionary blade made exactly the sound it was supposed to, the sound he had heard time and again when disposing of the demons who turned on him. Behind an outcropping of rock, the spell flared, powering the complex illusion tied directly to Crowley’s thoughts. Always glad to act the part, Crowley played out his agonizing death scene while the magic filled in the special effects. His body fell hard on the rocky ground and the spell subsided once he stopped asking so much of it.

He had expected a reaction. Something, anything, to indicate that anyone cared. The only sounds were the crash of red lightning overhead and the sound of the portal opening again. Of course, they took the distraction and left. But then there were footsteps, determinedly walking in his direction, and Dean yelling, “Cas? Cas!”

It all happened so fast. Castiel was supposed to have stayed out, waiting to heal anyone who returned. He wasn’t supposed to—

The portal flared again, no doubt actually the Winchesters that time, Sam dragging his injured brother out of the line of fire as he said, “No no no no no, let’s go, we gotta go.”

Castiel determinedly marched forward and stabbed his brother in the gut. Scripted or not, Crowley took the distraction as an opportunity, rendering himself invisible and sneaking over to the rift. He had no idea why Castiel would risk everything to futilely stab Lucifer with a blade that couldn’t possibly get the job done, but it was enough of a distraction to buy Crowley’s escape.

The blade couldn’t kill Lucifer, but it must have hurt, because it made him double over. As abruptly as Castiel had arrived, he yanked his blade back and hustled back to the rift, touching it without hesitation. Crowley made sure to stand close enough to Castiel so he would be transported as well without revealing himself.

The Winchesters were so glad to see their precious Cas, they were all relief, without a hint of shock or mourning over Crowley’s perceived self-sacrifice. If he weren’t invested in making certain of Lucifer’s containment, Crowley would have left immediately. Instead, he stepped off to one side to get a better view of the rift from further away. Lucifer stepped through without fanfare or any of his usual bluster. He arrived blade-first and didn’t hesitate, stabbing Castiel in the back.

It was like time slowed to a crawl. Grace burst forth from Castiel’s eyes and mouth, lighting up the night like terrible beacons. Sam and Dean stared in horror, struck dumb with shock until Dean cried, “NO!”

None of that was supposed to happen. If the bloody feathered bastard had stuck to the plan, everything would have been fine. Instead, he was impaled on his brother’s blade, dying, and making Crowley feel as though someone had punched him in the throat, forcing him out of his body where he was softly suffocating.

It felt like an eternity and it felt like an instant, but the light soon faded and Castiel fell to the ground with a soft thump. Dean stared at Castiel’s body in open-mouthed distress, Sam gasped around the sheer terror of once more facing his tormentor, and Lucifer smugly smiled and said, “That was fun.”

The difference was like night and day. All of the genuine pain and grief he had hoped to see even the barest hint of for himself was suddenly made manifest, but all directed at Castiel. It was like Crowley hadn’t even mattered at all. Looking at the Winchester boys, he knew there was no room in their hearts for him, not truly. And yet, he couldn’t leave them to die.

While Crowley thought, Lucifer gloated, which Crowley appreciated for the first time ever. Talking wasn’t killing. Perhaps if he waited until the right moment, he could telekinetically shove Lucifer back into the rift. He would have to wait right until it was about to close though. It would undoubtedly happen soon, but would it be soon enough to save them?

Circumstances strongly indicated that the answer to that was “probably not”. Then, like an avenging angel, came the sweetest words Crowley could imagine in that moment. “Get away from them.”

Whatever tricks she might have up her sleeve, Mother Winchester was a distraction, and distractions kept Moose and Squirrel alive that much longer. Already, he could see the rift’s power ebbing. Sure enough, Lucifer took the opportunity to play the cheesy villain a little longer, flattering Mary in his own disgusting way. But from Crowley’s viewpoint, he could just see behind Mary’s back. The matched set of knuckledusters looked impressive enough on their own, but Crowley recognized the Enochian runes that glowed when she activated them.

Mary stepped forward and Sam tried to stop her with a hand. “Mom, Mom, Mom— “

With a smile for both of her boys, more tender than any smile that Crowley’s mother had ever given him, she replied, “I love you.”

The first blow struck Lucifer square in the mouth. Sam and Dean visibly startled, having obviously not anticipated this turn of events. Mary allowed Lucifer to recover, assessing his reaction. For his part, Lucifer had been visibly hurt, but continued with his façade, responding only with, “Cute. Is that all you got, Mama?”

She struck again and again, and Crowley saw her plan. It was his, but better in a way. She got to experience the visceral joy of punching the devil in the face over and over again. Lucifer dropped his bloody angel blade as Mary continued her assault, each blow forcing Lucifer to stagger back. Then the flaw in her plan presented itself. Lucifer managed to grab hold of her arm, carrying her through the rift with him. The rift flared bright, then disappeared.

Again with the shocked faces, the shouted denial, the visible grief, all for someone else. It was too much. Lucifer was contained, that was what mattered. Much as Crowley was loathe to agree with her about anything, his mother had gotten at least one thing right: love is weakness.

The lights flickered inside the beach house. With a last pained glance down at Castiel’s empty vessel, Sam took off to investigate. Dean fell to his knees in the sand, looking around helplessly as if hoping for someone to fix things. Ignoring the pang in his chest, Crowley resolutely looked away, but the image of ashen wings burnt into the sand remained in his head.

A moment later, there came a soft sound of shifting sand, and despite his resolve, Crowley glanced back. Dean had sank down to sit on his heels beside the rapidly cooling body. It would have been so simple for Crowley to remove the invisibility that cloaked him from sight, to walk over and put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, to offer support.

Closing his eyes, Crowley teleported to Hell. With Lucifer gone, there was a power vacuum. Some witless demon with more brawn than brains would undoubtedly rise to the top for a day before someone else toppled them. The battle for power would be highly entertaining to watch. Crowley would be far too busy to watch, though. Somewhere, there was a redheaded witch about to undergo an incredibly painful and long overdue demonic transformation. It would take years, no doubt. Crowley planned to watch every single second of it.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for June's [ Coldest Hits ](http://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/post/161216626635/junes-prompt-posting-dates-15-18th-of-june) . I'm sure you've all realized by now that I'm incapable of crack, so I just take the prompt and write regular old fanfic. At any rate, I hope this was as therapeutic to some of you as it was for me.
> 
> As always, if you liked it, please leave comments and kudos (yes, even during the coldest hits competition period. I'd much rather get feedback than win). They're the fuel that keep me writing. And if you feel like following me on Tumblr, you can find me there as @thayerkerbasy


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